"Oh, Launce!" Belle says, turning pale. "You know quite well that he has eyes for no one but Mrs. Dundas."
"My dear, Launce was not born yesterday," Launce's sister assures her companion equably.
"Neither was Mrs. Dundas—nor the day before that," Belle bursts out angrily. "I vow she looks as old as my mother when you get a fair view of her in the daylight. But what does that matter? She has fascinated him!"
"'How sweet the ways of women are,
How honeyed is their speech!'"
a man's voice says mockingly.
Honor turns lazily in her hammock, but Belle—poor blushing, mortified
Belle—springs to her feet with a cry.
"I knew I should find you here eating all those strawberries!" the newcomer goes on placidly. "Girls do not expose their complexions to a sun like this for nothing."
"Where are the others?" Honor asks lazily.
"'Deed and I hardly know. They strolled away by twos and threes till there wasn't a soul left to chum with; and then I bethought me"—with a mocking glance at Belle—"of you; and here I am."
"Polite!" her sister murmurs. "But, to tell the truth, dear, we should prefer your room—no, your strawberries"—for he has begun his onslaught already—"to your company."